SINGLE & READY TO JINGLE

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

KENZIE

I can’t believe Andrew Wainwright is sitting across from me.

“Well, it truly is a small world then, isn’t it?” His smile strains and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s uncomfortable knowing I’m Finn’s sister or not.

I mean, he hasn’t exactly appeared to be super into the date so far. In fact, he’s been kind of a jerk. I get the elf costume, but a nice person would have tried to make me feel as if it wasn’t that big of a deal, whereas he’s making me feel like a loser.

Regardless of his coolness, this is my brother’s best friend. So while it’s obvious there’s no romantic match, we can still salvage a nice dinner.

I’ve always been curious about Andrew. They met in law school after my brother had already long moved out of our house in Indiana. I only moved to the city after college, and I guess our paths never crossed.

From what my brother has told me, Andrew is obsessive about his law career and puts in a lot of time in at the law firm he works at. I see that now as he keeps glancing at his watch.

“I can’t believe you’re Andrew Wainwright. It’s crazy that we’d end up on a date together.”

“Yes, well. Clearly, there will be no romantic entanglement between us now.”

“Of course.” The relief I hear in his voice stings, but I brush it off because he’s right. “We can still enjoy our dinner though.”

He nods in a stilted way that makes me think he’d rather just end dinner now.

“So, are you a divorce attorney like my brother?”

He sips his drink. “I’m a litigation lawyer at Simons, Berns & Scofield. We mostly deal with large corporations and enforcing the contracts they have in place.”

“Okay… so what is it you actually do?”

His nostrils flare and he sort of huffs as if my question is annoying. “Think of it this way. If someone breaks part of a contract, or if there’s a dispute over the terms of a contract, our clients come to us to get us to try to enforce the contract. It could be that someone is in breach of a business deal, someone is suing a company for something, maybe a CEO was terminated and contesting the directive of the contract they signed in such an event. It never ceases to amaze me the number of reasons people can get in conflict with one another.”

I nod. “Sounds interesting,” I say, not because I actually think it does but because I’m a polite person. Sitting behind a desk and staring at legalese all day sounds miserable to me.

“It can be. I prefer the days I’m in court over the days I’m poring over contracts to find one loophole I can use for my client’s benefit.”

“Is that because you’re argumentative?” The words leave my mouth before I think better of them.

He tilts his head. “Argumentative?”

“Not in a bad way. The impression I get is you’d do well arguing your point in front of other people. Maybe argumentative is the wrong word.”

He frowns. “Perhaps. I’ve never given it much thought.”

We sit in silence for a beat, because I insulted him, but he hasn’t been all warm and fuzzy to me so far. “I’m going to use the restroom.”

I push my chair back and cringe when all the bells on my costume ring. It’s worse when I walk to the restroom. Although I stand by my decision to not be late, I’m slightly embarrassed now, which I think is more due to Andrew’s reaction than my own. Tessa’s going to get a kick outta this one.

After I return to the table, purposely ignoring the way all the other diners glare at me, I retake my seat. My meal is waiting for me while Andrew has started eating his. And he’s getting on me for an elf costume? It’s common etiquette to wait for your date to return before you eat.

Rather than say anything, I smile as I take my seat. “How’s the salmon?”

He finishes chewing. “Excellent. Perfectly done.”

I nod and set my napkin over my red-and-green skirt, then pick up my cutlery and cut into my steak. Red liquid oozes from the meat, and I hold up the piece to inspect it.

“Didn’t you ask for your steak to be cooked medium well?” Andrew asks, surprisingly observant.

I sigh. “Yeah. That’s okay though.”

A line forms between his eyebrows, which I’ve noticed is a sign of his displeasure. I would know—it’s been directed at me several times tonight. “Why would you eat it like that? Just call the server back here and tell them to cook it longer.”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t want to bother her.” I put the piece of meat in my mouth and chew, stifling my reaction to spit it out.

Andrew looks as though he’s barely suppressing an eye roll but goes back to his own meal. The two of us sit there, paying rapt attention to our meals, eating in silence. Awkwardness crawls over my skin like poison ivy.

I hate awkward moments. I mean, I’m sure everyone does, but I think I hate them more than most. One of those childhood wounds people harbor for years or go to therapy for.

I work up the courage to talk. I’d rather deal with his attitude than this uncomfortableness. “So, how long have you been in the US?”

His body stiffens from what I thought was an innocent question.

“I came as soon as I graduated uni in London to attend law school.” He reaches for his drink and takes another sip. I notice it’s getting low and I wonder if he’ll stick around for a second.

“Did you plan on staying after graduation or was your original plan to return to England?” I sip my wine and sit back, not too interested in my meal.

“You’re full of questions, huh?” His lips press in a thin line. “I wasn’t positive, but I had an idea that I might stay.” He wipes his mouth with his napkin and leans back in his chair. “Event planning isn’t an easy business to get into?”

“No, it’s not. And my company isn’t huge—yet.” I smile at him, but his face doesn’t change from his blank expression. “Mostly I do smaller events—birthday parties, anniversary parties, that kind of thing. And I put together my own events… like the one I did today. My dream is to move into doing larger scale events, but I’m still waiting on my big break.”

He finishes his drink, the ice clinking to the empty glass. “And what exactly would a big break entail in the event planning world?” He picks up his fork and buries his head in his dish.

I frown for a second because he sounds condescending, but I decide to look past it. “Planning an event for a celebrity or someone well-known in the socialite circle and pulling it off. Most of the event planning business is word of mouth. It just takes someone giving me a chance to show I’m capable.”

He nods while he chews but says nothing.

I cut into my steak and fork a piece, bringing it to my mouth. That film of floundering silence coats me again. Andrew looks at his salmon as though it’s personally offended him.

I swallow and decide to take one last stab at a decent conversation. “Will you be traveling home to see your family over the holidays?”

His knife screeches across the plate and he quickly looks around at the other diners before peering across at me. “No, I won’t. I don’t generally do much for the holidays.”

“You don’t do much for holidays?” My tone sounds as if he just told me he kicks puppies for fun. “Oh, I love Christmas. I’m a total Christmas nut.” I smile, hoping some of my cheer will rub off on him.

He looks at my chest and back up to my face. “Wouldn’t have figured.” His sarcastic comment doesn’t do much to salvage this evening. “Let me guess—you already have your Christmas tree up.”

“Trees, plural.” I wink.

“How silly of me to assume you’d only have one.”

“You said you don’t do much for the holidays, but you can’t mean Christmas is included?” I feel as if it’s an innocent enough question, but something passes over his face. It’s quick, almost like a searing flash of pain, but it disappears.

“Not particularly.”

I frown. “How can you not like Christmas? There’s so much to love.” I fork my potato around since it’s the only thing I’m probably going to eat.

“Like what? The influx of tourists into the city so it takes twice as long to get anywhere? The pressure to find someone the perfect gift because if you don’t, then that must mean you don’t care enough about them? The commercialism of the entire holiday?” He gives me a hard glare. “Families pretending that they’re perfect when in fact nothing could be further from the truth?”

I stare at him for a beat because… jeez, this man is like a real-life, living and breathing Scrooge.

“You’re pretty cynical.” My forehead wrinkles and I place my fork down, my appetite gone.

“I’m a realist. Christmas is an entirely commercial affair that puts money in the pockets of large corporations and stockholders, and nothing more.”

“That’s a crappy way of looking at something so magical that brings people together.”

He wipes his mouth again and I don’t miss the way he white-knuckles the fabric. “Well, Kenzie, some of us aren’t as daft as others when it comes to the holidays.”

My head notches back as if he’s physically shoved me. “Are you calling me crazy?”

“You came to a dinner date dressed as a bloody elf!” The napkin drops to his lap and he leans across the table, his face growing redder. “What grown woman shows up to a date with a man she presumably wants to begin some type of relationship with dressed as a children’s Christmas character?”

My eyes burn with unshed tears because the disgust and condescension in his voice is something I’ve known all too well in my life. I stand with a flourish, the tiny bells ringing. At this point, no one else is really paying attention to the bells or that I’m dressed like an elf.

“I can see now that arriving here dressed like this”—I shake my hips for a little extra emphasis and, quite frankly, to annoy him—“was a mistake. But my intention wasn’t to embarrass you. It was so I wouldn’t leave you sitting in a restaurant, waiting for your date to show up. Making you think your blind date was a no-show felt rude and demeaning to me. So, I showed up here like this. But you had two choices. You could’ve laughed it off and appreciated that I did what I could to be on time, show it mattered that I thought of you and your feelings. Or you could make me feel like an i***t. And you chose the latter.”

He opens his mouth, but I raise my hand.

“As much fun as this evening has been, I’m leaving. And don’t worry, I’ll do you the courtesy of not telling my brother what a d**k you were to his little sister.” I toss my napkin on the table and storm off in a chorus of tinkling bells.

If I ever see Andrew Wainwright again, it will be too soon.